


slip

by sunflower_8



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Depression, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Not ship centric, Paranoia, Self-Esteem Issues, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Ideation, i'm tagging this wrong, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:34:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22026409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: he calls it the slip because everything falls off its axis and everything that is stable shifts away underneath kokichi’s feet. it’s not a rare occurrence, and he should definitely know how to handle it, but it feels less like i’m going to die it’s happening all at once and more like something really bad is going to happen.(or, kokichi has a breakdown)
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 154





	slip

**Author's Note:**

> tw-- suicidal ideation manifests as intrusive thoughts, which are sudden and may be triggering for readers. 
> 
> 1-800-273-8255 is the suicide hotline. better be safe than sorry.

kokichi should have fucking known.

things had been going too well recently. he’s dating shuichi, kaito and him are on speaking terms again, and rantaro is flying back today from his one month trip in barbados, brazil, and chile.

kokichi is meant to pick him up, actually. nobody’s excited about it, because he’s the worst driver out of all of them (and the most likely to purposely crash into a river to see how it feels), but shuichi is busy preparing the ‘secret’ party with kaede. one they literally always hold when rantaro leaves for a while, so there isn’t much to be desired. in any case, rantaro seems surprisingly happy that he’s going to get to see his best friend again, and the feeling was mutual.

was.

it starts before he even notices it; he already has his alerts off and a plan to ignore his friends. it takes only a few seconds for the world to burst into hyper-saturated and extremely tiny pixels, like some crappy video game. it’s far too colourful, and he wants to hide from it since it’s giving him a bad headache. it’s overwhelming, that’s what it is, and he wishes he could be someone else, or maybe nobody at all. and it lingers; it doesn’t leave it just _lingers_ . he calls it _the slip_ because everything falls off its axis and everything that is stable shifts away underneath kokichi’s feet. it’s not a rare occurrence, and he should definitely know how to handle it, but it feels less like _i’m going to die it’s happening all at once_ and more like _something really bad is about to happen._

these thoughts are the reason that he considers breaking it off with shuichi. these thoughts make him wish that he didn’t have to go and grab rantaro. these stupid ass paranoid ass thoughts are what’s going to kill him in the end, and he knows that. he wonders what qualifies someone for these kinds of pointless reveries because he wouldn’t take himself for the kind to entertain these thoughts for hours on end.

_car death. 1017. now._

he tries to take a nap because the only way he can avoid his own fears is if he sleeps through them, but he can’t get himself to sleep. he counts sheep (217), counts kaito’s gym shorts (34), counts reasons to stay awake (0) but it doesn’t get him to sleep. so he spends the next hours in bed, peering at his room as though he’s a guest, looking at his body _because he is a guest._ his hair is matted and tangled and-- oh, he should shower. that’s what he’s missing.

he checks his phone, first, a nervous habit he’ll never admit to. he has no texts, which is exactly what he expected-- shuichi already sent him good mornings, and rantaro is probably still asleep on the plane. with that, he throws it against his purple-sheeted bed and gets into the shower. he sets it to hot, but he winces immediately and rapidly moves the knob to the colder side. now, it’s frigid, and he only takes cold showers when he’s horny so there’s no real reason for that. he shifts it to a lukewarm that leaves much to be desired and calls it a day, squeezing shampoo into his hand and rubbing it through his hair.

_does shuichi really love me?_

kokichi sighs. he’s adjusted to the thoughts. he supposes if he really thinks, he can conclude that _no, shuichi doesn’t love me._ in reality, that’s probably not correct, because who would go out to a beach, two hours away, at two am just for anyone? they were flirting long before shuichi mustered the courage to ask him out, but the detective falls in love easily and there’s definitely someone better. so kokichi pours more shampoo that he’s definitely wasting and decides that shuichi doesn’t love him. 

_does kaito care for me?_

_no_. kokichi laughs bitterly. end of discussion.

_does rantaro actually find me funny? or cool? or amiable? or anything worthy of being his friend, because he definitely has more charisma with kaede because who doesn’t like kaede, she’s hilarious and kind and talented and remembers to text him, but i’m too scared to even ask how the weather is because what if the weather is bad and he didn’t want to think about it and i’m such a pathetic excuse for a supreme leader because i can’t even get the honest respect of rantaro amami._

kokichi quickly scrubs his body, heart palpitating. the water is hotter now because the knob is weird like that, but he doesn’t care. he wonders how easy it would be to drown. 

_i should stop talking to him. to them. to everyone. because then it’s a win-win because none of them will ever have to deal with me again and and and there are people so much better and the win-win part is that i don’t have to leave my house anymore because there’s nobody telling me to and i have a lot of fucking milk in the fridge so i think i can live off of just that if need be._

kokichi turns off the water, the shampoo only half washed out of his hair, and throws on a towel. he re-washes his hair in the sink by pathetically throwing water on it until it stops making little bubbles, and he gets dressed. he has a horrible fashion taste, so he just throws on a tye-dye shirt and gym shorts he stole from kaito, which effectively makes him look avoidable. he makes some coffee-- sugar, caffeine, and milk-- and heads to his car. he’s two hours early to picking up rantaro at an airport only half an hour away, but he drives anyway. 

_if i crash into another car now, would the others figure out i died?_

he smiles sardonically. the slip continues to distort his world like a funhouse, and he wants to crush himself with his own body but he can’t compact any further than what he is now. his head hurts really bad and the coffee is what’s keeping him awake (he slept twelve hours the night before) and alive and sane. he wonders if he should tell rantaro because the other boy always knows what to say and he has his own fair share of paranoia, so he should--

but. but rantaro just got back from a trip. he’s exhausted. and who would listen to kokichi ouma say _i think you hate me and i spent forty-five minutes crying in the bathroom because i couldn’t convince myself of a single reason why you haven’t blocked me_ without laughing? nobody could. kaito would just shrug and tell him it’s not that complicated, and kaede would start using her sweet honey voice, and maki would tell him to get help, and himiko would sigh, and shuichi… 

shuichi would… 

rantaro would probably just look at him with concern and smile softly, playing some music so that they can both forget the confession that just took place. they’re good at that. forgetting. not that either of them shut down each other’s emotions, but they know when they should drop it. 

he brakes too late at a stop sign and gets honked for tailgating the car in front of him. he mouths _sorry_ with a wave, but the other driver just rolls her eyes. it feels like everyone is rolling his eyes at him, now, and he can’t blame them. he’s a horrible driver, and _the slip_ is making a schism in the highway, and rain is beginning to fall. the squeaky windshield wiper is enough to make kokichi’s fingers dig into his palm with want.

(he can’t fight the compulsive thoughts telling him _hey, hey, hey, you should run into a car, kokichi,_ and it’s the same thoughts that leave him fixating on an object when everyone else has moved on and god he’s _crazy_ )

he gets to a red light again and checks his phone. rantaro texted him twenty minutes ago with an updated arrival time, and shuichi recently sent a pic of balloons, asking which one rantaro would want.

it’s five minutes too late, but kokichi replies that the black ones are aesthetic, and shuichi thanks him with a heart emoji immediately after. his boyfriend starts asking how his day has been, and kokichi bullshits a lie and makes an excuse to leave. 

(he lives in passive voice, in fifty pixels, in a tv screen, in 3d, in spectator mode, in everything far away and too close at once because _the slip_ is taking him away in the current and he’s _powerless_ )

he’s too much of a pussy to block rantaro or shuichi, so he blocks ryoma instead. ryoma doesn’t check his phone, ever, and it’s a fine decision. still, he starts crying because he _loves_ ryoma, ryoma is so nice and honest and real. ryoma probably won’t judge him for his mistakes, just asking if he wants photos of ryoma’s cats, mochi and miso, and it would light up kokichi’s world. because ryoma is such a genuinely good guy, and kokichi just blocked him and he doesn’t know why. well, he does; it’s because he’s a complete and utter asshole who doesn’t trust. 

kokichi gets to the airport and sits in his car, still crying, trying to calm down his ugly sobs so that rantaro doesn’t know. he thinks he finally gets a hold of it, but his other best friend, himiko, suddenly texts him, asking _why did u block ryoma?_ and kokichi caves.

_i’m fucking crazy, himiko._

_(read: 13:02)_

_aren’t u at the airport getting ranty?_

_(read: 13:02)_

_i am. but i’ve been losing it all day._

_(read: 13:02)_

_he won’t mind if you’re upset_

_(read: 13:03)_

_yeah._

_(read: 13:03)_

_do u need company?_

_(read: 13:04)_

_no.. tell ryoma i’m sorry, tho. not his fault. love the guy._

_(read: 13:04)_

_tell him urself? carrying messages is a pain_

_(read: 13:04)_

_i’m a coward._

_(read: 13:04)_

_i’ll tell him. u 2 talk at the party though. i’ll b there if you need me_

_(read: 13:05)_

_k._

_(read: 13:06)_

kokichi wipes his tears off with his sleeve and goes inside the airport, telling scary looking security guards that he’s here to pick someone up. after he does all the airport precaution things and gets asked if he’s a kid twice, he finally sits in a shitty plastic chair waiting for rantaro. he fiddles with his phone and settles on listening to music, ignoring himiko’s further text messages about ryoma forgiving him. he goes through fall out boy’s new album before switching to scattered songs by panic! at the disco and caravan palace. eventually, he’s snapped back into reality by a shout.

before he can run and hug rantaro, his brain begins to supply:

_dead._

_awkward and don’t know how to talk (to people)_

_compliments you…! wrong, superior (them)_

_why would ever care about_

_you_

_block him so easy button never click again_

_ignore ignore ignore ignore_

_piece of shit._

as he tries to reach him, he slips.

**Author's Note:**

> paranoia. it exist. 
> 
> i feel like this is super annoying for literally anybody to read sorry i keep venting i know nobody rly cares but i have one (1) coping mechanism 
> 
> i feel like i forgot how to say words this entire note sounds fuzzy (super large pixels) to me but y'know whatever. have a nice night.


End file.
